The air grew suffocating, dusty with black darkness. The sun had fallen into the depths, and the split moon now lit the crumbling land.
Galaxies drifted across the sky. Each star was a mark of a fool's sin. The black clouds made the sky more beautiful, but they did not hide the galaxies—lest they be punished.
And in that moment, the frail old woman sat on a decaying chair, her cane resting on her legs. She spoke with a tired, quiet voice:
"Going and returning to the same point… it makes a man lose his mind. Isn't that right, hunters?"
Gehrman and Ophelia looked at one another. Their gazes questioned what this old woman was talking about. Gehrman opened his hands wide and spoke sarcastically:
"Seems like living here made you lose your mind, you old fool."
The woman chuckled softly, then lifted her veil slightly, revealing a red eye with a clock bleeding blood. Then she spoke:
"You call me a fool. Hahaha… And do you think calling someone names makes you strong, boy?"
"And what of it? Speaking in riddles and sitting here in the middle of monsters and ruin—don't those things make you the fool?" Gehrman leaned his head forward slightly, his tone sharp.
"It was meant as guidance. Not all words spoken in chaos are meaningless. They may be the secret to your survival." The woman raised her hand and spoke with a calm, unsettling voice.
Then she continued, her tone now sharper, and her words filled with depth:
"On his face danced the colors of a clown—but there was no joy. The red, thick as blood moaning from a thousand existential wounds, curled around his mouth like a smile forced into eternity. The yellow, the color of a dead sun that rises only in the realm of ancient dreams, seeped around his eyes like a deceiving light that sees what must not be seen. It wasn't a mask… it was a chromatic curse stitched from the fabric of nightmares."
Gehrman stepped back slightly and looked at Ophelia in astonishment. Ophelia extended her hand slightly forward and spoke in a quiet, wondering tone:
"This old woman… she's not ordinary at all. Especially that last thing she said. It felt like she was describing you."
As Ophelia finished her words, the woman tapped the ground three times slowly while staring at the staircase. Then she spoke calmly:
"As the girl said, I described you clearly and precisely… mad lord's of nothing. Many massacres will happen, but the greatest one will end with your death."
Gehrman looked toward the staircase, from which thick, black, suffocating fog was rising. Then he whispered to himself:
'I've met many madmen along the way. This isn't the first.'
His inner voice paused for a moment before he continued quietly:
'But madness always carries hatred.'
The cosmos played the symphony of death when the lord met his grave. And isn't the king supposed to never die? The universe whispered forbidden murmurs as the old woman uttered what was forbidden to her:
"Go, mad lord's of nothing… Your blood is long, and your chances are many. My words aren't nonsense—though I only speak nonsense." She laughed faintly, choking on the truth, then pointed toward the staircase.
"mad lord's of nothing… That title isn't simple, not when the girl gave it to you."
Gehrman placed his five fingers against his forehead and looked up toward the swimming galaxies. He spoke with a choked, expressive voice:
'Seems they know things about me… that even I don't know about myself.'
Ophelia placed her hand on Gehrman's shoulder and gently said:
"Listening to her has clearly drained you. Why don't we just continue our path?"
Gehrman looked at her with eyes that reminded her of something, then lowered his head and looked toward the staircase.
"You're right. Let's move on."
They walked toward the staircase, and just as Gehrman was about to place his foot on the first step, someone called out to him from a nearby house.
Gehrman turned, visibly surprised. He stood still on the ground, and the voice called out again—this time clearer, tired, and filled with constant coughing.
"There seems to be someone in that house. What do you say, should we check it out?" Gehrman extended his hand toward the house, speaking to Ophelia.
"Let's check it out," Ophelia nodded.
They both walked toward the old gothic house. Gehrman knocked on the door gently.
Cough… cough… COUGH.
The voice was harsh and clear. Then the person spoke. His voice sounded young, but worn and sick:
"Hunters… how goes the hunt? Hahaha. I'm sorry, I know that's not a question I should ask. But… I'll be dead today or maybe in an hour—I truly don't know."
Cough cough… COUGH. The man coughed again, even harsher than before. Gehrman looked at Ophelia with deep confusion.
The young man continued:
"I wanted to become a hunter once. But I just sat in my home… watching the plague pierce my walls and my body. Cough cough… COUGH. I'm sorry. I'm sick. Listen closely, hunters—be warned. Repeating the same place again and again… it can drive you insane."
He kept coughing violently, until blood began to pour out from beneath the door. Gehrman scratched the back of his head and said:
"I don't know, but it feels like this place is full of madmen. The sewers were better than this weird little place."
Ophelia looked around, then said in a calm tone:
"I don't know… but something about this place is off."
The young man coughed again, harder than ever, as though his chest wanted to explode from the pain. Then he opened the door slightly, threw something out, and quickly slammed it shut.
"It was a beautiful dream… but I'll give you this dream. It's a weapon—maybe it'll help you in battles to come."
Gehrman bent down and picked up the weapon. It was an iron tube with a ball attached at the end.
The tube was yellow, like a sun falling from the heavens rather than rising, and the attached orb was red—growing angrier with every life it took.
Gehrman strapped the weapon to his belt and spoke softly toward the man inside:
"I don't know who you are or what you want, but… I'll accept your gift."
The man gave no reply. The two headed toward the staircase and climbed in silence. When Gehrman reached the top, he found himself in the exact same place.
"What the hell is this?"
Ophelia reached the top, equally stunned. She spoke in a questioning tone:
"Why are we in the same place? Could these floors be identical?"
Gehrman looked at the sewer door—it was the same one he'd seen fall from the sky. And the old woman was still in her place, as if none of them had moved at all.
"I don't know what to say… but it feels like we're in a time loop."
"That's right, the changes in the place are the same. Even the blood under the door hasn't dried." Ophelia noticed it too.
"Let's continue toward the stairs and check it out," said Gehrman to Ophelia.
They both walked quietly until they reached the old woman, who spoke in a deceptive, eerie tone:
"Welcome back. Just as you left… you returned as well."
Gehrman was shocked by her words, and even Ophelia was stunned. Gehrman approached her in anger, grabbed her neck tightly, and shouted in her face:
"You filthy whore, who do you think you are playing these tricks on me? Speak, you wretched bitch!"
The old woman bled from her mouth onto Gehrman's hand. She smiled calmly and said:
"The answer is clear and direct. You might find it in front of you… or behind you."
"Enough of your damn riddles, you filthy creature. What are you aiming for?"
Ophelia gently held Gehrman's hand and said quietly:
"It seems you're starting to lose your mind—and that's exactly what she wants. For you to lose your sanity so you can no longer think rationally."
Gehrman lowered his head, then released her neck. He walked forward and stopped in front of the stairs, lost in thought. His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the young man once again:
"You had the riddle in your hands, but you let it go. What are you waiting for? Why don't you just kill her and end this torment?"
Gehrman clenched his fists in anger and replied in a sharp tone:
"You and the old hag are both mad and freakish—talking in riddles and incoherent phrases."
Cough, cough… caaahh The young man coughed, a brutal sound ripping through his throat. Ophelia watched from a distance, thinking to herself:
"Is Gehrman talking to that young man again?"
The young man continued with difficulty:
"Not everything comes easily, Lundis."
Gehrman was shocked to hear his real name. He angrily walked toward the door and shattered it. His eyes widened at the strange scene before him.
The young man speaking to Gehrman was dead. His body was just bones. A stitched red note was fastened to his abdomen.
The note read in very short words:
"Already dead."
Ophelia's gaze danced toward the bizarre scene. She quickly walked up to Gehrman and spoke in shock:
"Was he talking to us while being dead all along?"
Gehrman was sinking deep into his memory, his eyes widening in horror.
'Return to yourself. You were holding the answer in your hand. Then the only way to break the curse… is to kill the curse itself.'
Gehrman suddenly appeared in front of the old woman. A final smile spread across her face. She raised her head and looked into his eyes—eyes that could devour even the great ones.
Gehrman placed his five fingers on her neck and, with terrifying speed, severed her head from her body. He tossed the head to the ground.
The old woman's head spoke one last sentence:
"You will see the Great Ones. It's not a false prophecy… but an absolute truth."
Gehrman approached her head, placed his foot on it, and stomped with full force until her head burst into tiny pieces.
"To hell with you, bitch. And to hell with the foolish Great Ones too."
Ophelia appeared quickly beside him, speaking calmly:
"Do you really think you made the right choice?"
At that moment, the place shook violently. The floor exploded, revealing a spiral staircase leading downward. A strange smell and terrifying sounds came from it.
Gehrman looked at Ophelia with a victorious expression and said:
"Seems like I did the right thing."
Ophelia smiled and looked toward the staircase, saying:
"Looks like the real path leads downward."
"That's right. Let's get out of this damned place," Gehrman said in an indifferent tone.
They both walked toward the staircase, stepping calmly. As they descended, the massive opening above them closed. After walking for about one or two minutes, they arrived at a new and strange place.
Ophelia spoke with a sarcastic tone:
"Looks like the strange places never end."
The place was a giant bridge, seemingly leading upward, but if you looked closely, it also led forward.
On the sides of the bridge were destroyed Victorian mansions, while others remained intact. All the Victorian mansions were built upside down, suspended on dark clouds, chained to the sky.
"I don't know how, but it feels like we're in the sky… and yet we descended. Seems like the architecture in nightmares is different from reality."
While they were looking around, someone landed on the bridge. Both of them stared. It was a tall young man wearing a mask made of human flesh. Black threads were stitched across it, and the mask's eyes were red wolf eyes.
He wore an open black coat, with chains around his waist and chest. He held a large bloodied scythe on his shoulder. Near him sat the one-eyed beast.
"Isn't that the one-eyed beast we fought?" Ophelia asked in shock.
Gehrman tightly gripped his card, eyes fixed on the mysterious man whose aura was heavy and dark. Gehrman spoke with focus:
"Looks like we're facing the main prey—not just one of his stray dogs."
The beast sat on the ground beside the mysterious man. The man placed his five fingers on the beast's head and spoke in a cold, soft tone that made death feel present:
"So you're the ones who disturbed my favorite beast… hmm."
He then continued:
"You're now facing the bounty hunter… who hunts the hunters. So prepare yourselves for the hunt."